


Mirror, Mirror

by wxandwaves



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-08-19 22:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20217472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wxandwaves/pseuds/wxandwaves
Summary: Sadie Hawke was minding her own business, heading home from Weisshaupt in 9:41 Dragon when she was ambushed by a Venatori mage. The next thing she knew, she was waking up back in Kirkwall in 9:39 Dragon to a world that was strangely different from the past she knew. Now, armed with her knowledge of the threats that lay just over the horizon, she must scramble to find the major players of the Inquisition before it's too late. And also find a way to get back to her own time. Yeah, that would be great too.





	1. Chapter 1

Hawke awoke with a start to a soft mattress, her quietly snoring lover sprawled out beside her, and a red velvet canopy staring back at her. Muted daylight peaked in through the thick curtains to their bedroom in her Hightown estate and she could only just hear the sound of rain tapping against the glass over Anders’ breathing beside her. It was, in many ways, like any other morning she’d had in Kirkwall during the four or so years she and Anders had lived together. Absolutely everything was just as it should be, from her diary sitting on the desk in the corner to the draft of Anders’ manifesto on the table beside it, to their clothes haphazardly tossed about the room as evidence of their late-night activities. It was a serene image, Hawke felt, as she gazed over at Anders’ sleeping form, admiring what the comforter failed to hide and the peacefulness of his expression. She could have stayed like that forever, curled up in bed beside him and listening to the rain outside from the safety of their home.

The problem was, by Hawke’s recollection, this wasn’t something that had happened for quite some time. By her memory, the last time she and Anders had been together in Kirkwall was at least three years ago, right before that whole Chantry fiasco and the war began. Right about now, Anders should be safe in their little house in Nevarra as she made her way back to him from Weisshaupt Fortress. None of this should be happening as it was, and yet, this wasn’t the Fade. Hawke had been in the bloody Fade in person now—she _knew _what the Fade was like. This wasn’t it. No, this was real, so the only question was _how _was it real? What in the world had happened? The last thing she remembered, she’d been traveling down a forest path and then…

And then some strange mage had appeared, and now she was back to her life from years ago? That made no sense.

Never one to leave well enough alone, Hawke poked Anders.

Anders grumbled in his sleep but didn’t wake up.

Hawke poked him again and he rolled over so that his back was to her.

That wouldn’t do.

Hawke wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss behind his ear. “Wake up.”

Anders cracked an eye open. “Hmm?”

“Wake up, Anders.”

Anders grumbled noncommittally, but Hawke knew enough of the man to know that he was awake now.

“Anders, I need you to listen for a moment. Well, actually, I need you to answer a quick question first, then I need you to listen,” said Hawke.

“No, I don’t believe that the templars will just leave us be,” said Anders. He was still half-asleep.

“What year is it?” asked Hawke.

Anders turned around a bit to look at her oddly. “9:39 Dragon.”

Hawke’s eyes grew wide. “And what happened yesterday?”

Anders furrowed his brow in a mix of concern and confusion. “Love, is everything all right?”

“Just answer the question,” said Hawke.

“Do you really not remember?” said Anders.

“Humor me.”

He studied her for a long moment before saying, “The same thing we’ve been doing for the past several months? Rebuilding Kirkwall and helping the people here after the Knight-Commander tried to kill everyone and then turned into a statue?”

Oh dear.

“And you blew up the chantry?” said Hawke tersely. She did not have good memories of that day. And yes, she was still rather peeved about that whole incident.

Anders looked at her in confusion. “I did what now?”

“You blew up the chantry? A while ago you lied to me and said that you had found a ritual to separate Justice from yourself but in reality, you just needed my help getting ingredients together so that you could build a bomb and hide it in the chantry to send a message?” said Hawke.

“What are you talking about? I _did _separate Justice from myself. You were _there_ when we completed the ritual. I never thought _Fenris _would actually be pleased by something I did until then,” said Anders. “Love, what’s going on?”

“So, you _didn’t_ blow up the chantry?” said Hawke in confusion.

“I won’t lie and say that it hasn’t crossed my mind or that Justice didn’t think it would send a message, but it’s a bit counterproductive to murder innocent people when you’re trying to convince everyone that you should be free,” said Anders carefully. “Not that the Grand Cleric wouldn’t have deserved it if I had, though. Useless old biddy.”

“Then what about the war between mages and templars?” asked Hawke.

“You mean about how the Circle fell apart? That _did _happen. Love, will you bother telling me what’s going on?” said Anders in exasperation.

“Just try not to overreact,” prefaced Hawke.

“I won’t,” said Anders.

“The last thing I remember, it was 9:41 Dragon, we were hiding in Nevarra because we were both wanted fugitives because you blew up the chantry, I inadvertently helped you, we started the war between mages and templars, and the world had gone to shit. Instead of sending an Exalted March, the Divine called a Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but Corypheus and the Grey Wardens who he’d enslaved—remember them?—they blew _up _the Conclave and the only survivor was this mage from Ostwick. Well, long story short, an Inquisition was called, Varric somehow got roped into helping, Corphyeus was still my problem so he called me in to help, you stayed home because of what happened _last _time with Corypheus, we ended up way out in Adamant Fortress and then in the actual, physical Fade and left Stroud there, and then I headed up to Weisshaupt to tell the Wardens there what happened in Adamant with Corypheus and the fake Calling that he was using to control the Wardens of Orlais. I was actually just headed back home to you in Nevarra when some mage jumped me on the Imperial Highway and then bam! I ended up here years earlier where apparently you _didn’t _blow up the chantry,” explained Hawke.

Anders stared at her.

“Please say something,” said Hawke.

“I’m…I’m not sure what _to _say,” admitted Anders.

“I swear this is not all just been some bizarre dream brought on by some strange swill Isabella dared me to try,” said Hawke.

“I…I have never of magic that could even be capable of such things, forgetting everything that you claim happens over the next few years,” said Anders.

“Nor have I, but Anders, I swear it all does. But even if you never blew up the chantry and the Circles haven’t fallen yet, and the war hasn’t started, Corypheus and his ilk are still a threat and the Inquisition is the only group that stands a chance of defeating him. The _Inquisitor _is the only one who stands a chance of defeating him,” said Hawke.

“Didn’t we kill him once?” said Anders. “I am really quite positive that we already did that once.”

“He possessed Laurius. Apparently, he can do that, just like an Archdemon, only he just takes over the person’s body instead of destroying their soul and both parties dying. More like a parasite, I suppose,” said Hawke.

“Oh, _good_,” said Anders. “I’m so glad we did all that for nothing then.”

“Anders, you’re not understanding. If you never blew up the chantry, then the war never started, and the Conclave won’t be called, which means that it won’t get blown up, which means that Lady Trevelyan never becomes Inquisitor, and no one can defeat Corypheus and we’re all doomed to the future he has in store for us,” explained Hawke, desperate for him to understand.

“I love you, and I understand that whatever is happening is troubling you, but I’m not going to blow up the chantry for this,” said Anders blandly.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you that we need to do two things. First, we need to track down Gwendolyn Trevelyan and get her together with all of her little Inquisition friends so that they can take care of that. Second, we need to figure out how to send me back to where I came from and reverse whatever spell sent me back to this parallel reality in the first place,” said Hawke.

“I’m not an expert, but given our luck, I feel as if the second might follow from the first,” said Anders.

“Right. Okay, so we need to start tracking down Inquisition people,” said Hawke.

“You said Varric joined this Inquisition?” said Anders skeptically.

“Joined is a strong word for it. When we all disappeared, a Seeker of Truth showed up in Kirkwall demanding to know where I was and interrogated Varric because he wrote a book about it,” began Hawke.

“Of course, he did. I suppose he did warn us,” said Anders tiredly.

“When Varric lied and said that he had no idea where I was, the Seeker dragged him off to Haven, intent on shoving him at the Divine, but the Divine got blown up before that could happen, so Varric just sort of…stuck around, I guess?” said Hawke.

“Hmm, I’m sure that went over well,” said Anders.

“So, we need to track down the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, an Antivan diplomat, Knight-Captain Cullen, and a Circle mage from Ostwick. That would take care of Inquisition command at least,” said Hawke.

“I’m sorry, what?” said Anders.

“Gwendolyn Trevelyan—Circle mage from Ostwick—is the Inquisitor. She’s the one who survived the Conclave. We need to find her and given that I understand she should still be in the Ostwick Circle, that should be fairly easy. The Left and Right Hands of the Divine founded the Inquisition and the Left Hand is the spymaster. The Antivan diplomat is the Inquisition’s ambassador, and Knight-Captain Cullen is the military advisor. I understand he’s almost tolerable now and actually recognizes that we mages are people. I call that character development. Took him bloody long enough,” said Hawke.

“So…we need to find these people and then…what? Somehow get them all into the same room to listen to you explain this madness and pray to the Maker that they believe you and decide to do something about a hypothetical threat they can’t see and won’t believe exists?” said Anders.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Step One is finding the Inquisitor,” said Hawke.

“The Mage Underground should have no trouble smuggling one girl out of the Ostwick Circle,” said Anders.

“What if her noble family was paying off the templars to be extra-vigilant of her and her brother was the Knight-Captain there?” said Hawke.

“How sure are you that we need this girl? Alternatively, can we just dismantle _that _Circle too?” said Anders.

“You know, you’re not going to like this, but I think I actually have an idea. If we get the Seeker and Knight-Captain Cullen in on this, then _they _can just break her out for us. Cullen should definitely cooperate, considering how those two are,” said Hawke.

“Are we talking about the same man here? Blond curly hair? Semi-permanent scowl? Once said that _mages aren’t people_?” said Anders.

“He’s terrible, I know, but a few years from now he’ll be madly in love with a former Circle mage like nobody’s business, so he should have a vested interest in helping,” said Hawke.

“Is it bad that _this _is the part I find the least plausible about everything you’ve just told me?” said Anders.

“Even Varric likes him,” said Hawke.

“Character development indeed. Maybe Meredith wasn’t the only one going crazy with that red lyrium stuff,” said Anders.

“Don’t even get me started on red lyrium. It spreads and the templars all end up infected with the stuff and get turned into monsters,” said Hawke.

“So…nothing changes,” said Anders blandly.

“Anders,” said Hawke, almost pleadingly.

Anders caved. It was really just easier to. He loved Hawke, after all, and they _had _just gotten rid of Knight-Commander Meredith and the mages from the Gallows _were _safe now. Even Kirkwall was becoming borderline not horrible. It wasn’t enough, but at least it was a start. And if Hawke was right about all this, and he figured that she probably was, then it had to take priority.

And so, that was how Hawke and Anders ended up heading down to the Hanged Man early that morning to start getting the crew together. Varric listened to Hawke’s story with marked interest, undoubtedly thinking that at the very least it was a good story. Merrill was fascinated by whatever magic had caused Hawke to get in this situation in the first place, so she agreed to help as much as she could, although she was a bit busy helping the elves in the alienage. Aveline said that she had enough to do cleaning up the city and then preemptively yelled at Anders for even considering blowing up the chantry in an alternate realtiy. Isabella was off somewhere calling herself an admiral now, presumably with a new ship and a big hat. That left only Sebastian and Fenris, the former of which was reportedly on his way back to Starkhaven (finally) and the latter of which was rather peeved that Hawke had sided with the mages, and thus was out hunting slavers for the catharsis (which was probably for the best).

It was in that way that the admittedly unbalanced party of Hawke, Anders, and Varric made their way to the Gallows that afternoon to try and find now-Knight-Commander Cullen in hopes that he wouldn’t react by trying to make every mage among them tranquil.

The Gallows were a mess—much more of a mess than even the rest of Kirkwall—and it immediately became clear that the new Knight-Commander had more important things to worry about than a couple of apostates running about. Oh, he was in the courtyard all right, barking out orders like he was born to it, and trying his best to restore some semblance of order under the circumstances. This was, admittedly, quite difficult to accomplish whilst the petrified red lyrium corpse of the former Knight-Commander was still glued to the pavement and the remnants of the statues that had come alive were littered around the courtyard.

Cullen looked up as the Champion and her friends approached him, already hating absolutely everything about this day. He had lost faith in mages ages ago, but now his faith in the Order was gone too, and as far as he could tell, the only one he could count on was himself, and even that wasn’t exactly something to boast about. Cullen was racked with guilt, knowing that he should have seen through Meredith sooner. She was wrong about so much, and he had realized too late. How many atrocities had he committed just because he had been told to and had blindly believed in his Knight-Commander? What horrors had he trespassed against mages just because Meredith had believed them all blood mages? He had allowed the trauma of his past color his worldview for too long. He knew that was unfair of him. He knew it. Now more than ever, he knew it. Not that _all _of these mages were innocent—not by a long shot—but Meredith had been wrong. And now he needed to make amends.

“Knight-_Commander_ Cullen. Well, that’s quite the promotion, but I suppose that’s to be expected when your former boss turns into a statue,” said Hawke.

Cullen was immediately tired, and the conversation hadn’t even properly started yet. Hawke had the effect on people. “Champion. I expect that you have a reason for being here?”

“Indeed, I do, _Commander_. As it happens, I’ve caught a glimpse of the future and as it stands, around 9:40 Dragon, there’s going to be a new Inquisition founded by the Left and Right Hands of the Divine. Now, the Inquisition will be called to solve the murder of the Divine when the Temple of Sacred Ashes explodes, but hear me out, that won’t happen, because the war that the meeting was supposed to end in the first place hasn’t happened, _but _the monster who _blows up _the Temple of Sacred Ashes is still very much out there and still very much a threat, _so _the Inquisition needs to be founded, but it _won’t _be founded because the Temple of Sacred Ashes hasn’t been blown up,” began Hawke.

“Are you proposing to murder the Divine?” said Cullen in confusion. He didn’t question how she knew all of this. With Hawke, it just seemed like something that might as well be possible at this point.

“No, I am proposing that the Inquisition be formed _now _rather than later so that you lot aren’t all scrambling at the last conceivable second. Also, it just so happens that your lovely Inquisitor only came to you by miraculously surviving the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and that won’t exactly happen if the place never explodes, now will it? Now, you’re a religious man, so I’ll try and put this crisis in a context that you’ll understand. The monster who murders the Divine and tries to destroy the world? His name is Corypheus and he’s one of the original Tevinter Magisters who entered the Black City and created the Blights. So, if everything I’ve said so far isn’t proper motivation, that alone should be,” half-explained Hawke.

Cullen just looked at her.

“Should I have led with, in the future _you _are the military advisor to the Inquisition and Commander of the Inquisition’s forces? The man who amasses an army to rival nations and lays siege to Adamant and fells its walls as if he’s done it a thousand times?” said Hawke.

Cullen’s frown deepened.

“Or perhaps more importantly, should I have led with that in this future, you and the incredibly lovely Lady Inquisitor Gwendolyn Trevelyan are, shall we say, _involved_? Oh, but you’re more than involved, you’re damn near ready to start picking out curtains for a nice, posh house in the Ferelden countryside for when you retire,” said Hawke.

Cullen looked at her for a long, hard moment, and returned to his paperwork. “Do you not have a mage rebellion to be leading or something similar, Champion?”

“Gwendolyn Trevelyan is the only person who stands a chance of defeating Corypheus and uniting southern Thedas. But she’s in Ostwick right now and is unlikely to leave unless something changes, so _you _need to be the something that changes to get her out of there,” said Hawke.

“Good day to you, Champion,” said Cullen.

“Do you perhaps know of a Knight-Captain Cador Trevelyan?” said Hawke.

Cullen’s hands froze on the work orders he was flipping through. He looked up at Hawke. “What of him?”

“The Knight-Captain of Ostwick is the elder brother of the lovely Lady Trevelyan and he acts as something of a personal jailer to his younger sister. If you know the man, I doubt I need to tell you how miserable she is, and I imagine you can figure out for yourself what abuses she is likely to have suffered through the years at the Circle under his care. You need this woman, Commander, and what’s more _Thedas_ needs this woman. The way I see it, you can either use your new-found authority to get her out of Ostwick and bring her here, or I will use _my _authority to get her here, and I have the distinct impression that you would prefer the former,” said Hawke.

Cullen did, in fact, know of Cador Trevelyan. Gossip moves through a barracks fairly quickly, after all, and though Cullen was far from sociable, it was impossible not to hear some things. Things like Cador Trevelyan being the type of kick puppies and drown kittens. Things like Cador Trevelyan raping a mage and then having her made tranquil for imagined crimes. Things like Cador Trevelyan paying off the other templars so that the nobles of Ostwick could dictate affairs in the Circle.

Cullen had never met the man and he already knew that he represented everything that he loathed about the Order. He did not properly know what Hawke’s real motivation was in this whole mess of a story, nor did he know precisely what Hawke intended to do with this Lady Trevelyan once she got a hold of her, but Cullen knew instinctively that this mage was far better off in _this _mess of a city than she was under Knight-Captain Cador’s care.

“I will…see what I can do,” said Cullen.

The day _needed _to be more chaotic, and so it was right about then that nonother than Seeker Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, stormed out of the Gallows with all the force and fury of a hurricane. She had arrived only a few days prior to assess the situation and had _not _been impressed by what she had seen. So far, the only positive forces she had witnessed were the new Knight-Commander and the Champion of Kirkwall. Well, and perhaps the Captain of the Guard. But that was all. The rest of the city seemed to be doomed.

The Seeker caught sight of the strange party congregating around Cullen and immediately knew that something strange was happening. She elected to investigate.

“Champion. I understand that your cleanup efforts are going well?” said Cassandra.

“I understand that they are as well, but that’s _not _actually why I’m here. Tell me, Seeker, do you have any plans to found an Inquisition?” said Hawke pleasantly.

And so, Hawke related the tale to Cassandra and the Seeker, to her credit, took it all in stride. There were specifics that otherwise the Champion could not conceivably know of, such as the Divine’s directive to establish an Inquisition, and it certainly would not benefit the Champion to implicate her lover as a criminal, so clearly there must be something to this. The concern, principally, was regarding this Corypheus character, closely followed by a serious worry for the Divine’s safety. Leliana could handle the Divine, but Cassandra was here now, and the threat to this supposed Inquisitor could not be overstated.

“And to confirm, the plan you have at present is to retrieve this Trevelyan mage from the Circle in Ostwick?” said Cassandra.

“She’s the Inquisitor and the only one who stands a chance of defeating Corypheus permanently. People think she’s Andraste’s bloody Herald because she helps anyone and everyone with no concern for herself. Thedas needs her, even if no one realizes it yet,” said Hawke.

“I expect that you would desire my assistance in the matter?” said Cassandra.

“If I may, Lady Cassandra, the templars at the Ostwick Circle are rumored to have been taking bribes to allow noble families greater access and control over the Circle. Such a thing _would _warrant an official visit for a Seeker of Truth without eliciting the suspicion of anyone involved,” said Cullen.

The Seeker looked at Cullen in surprise and then her expression turned murderous. “Yes, Knight-Commander, I believe it absolutely does.”


	2. Chapter 2

Gwendolyn stared out the window of her quiet reading nook in the library and sighed absently. She had long abandoned hope of ever properly seeing the world outside of the Circle Tower and her parents’ estate. Those two places were the only locales to which she would ever travel until the day she died: an ivory tower and a gilded prison. All she had ever wanted as a girl was to see the world—to travel to the far reaches of Thedas, to meet people, and to _live_. But instead she was trapped within in the confines of the life that had been decided for her through an accident at birth. So instead of living a full and charmed existence, Gwendolyn stared out the window and filled the void by imagining the lives of the regular people who wandered by far below in the square, going about their business.

She was meant to be reading through a text on spirit healing, but her mind had wandered. It was easy for your mind to wander when you had little to no interest in anything you were doing. It was a beautiful day outside. Gwendolyn could scarcely recall what sunlight felt like most days, she saw it so rarely.

“That’s odd,” said Maxine.

“Hmm?” acknowledged Gwendolyn distantly. Her friend was prone to odd outbursts of this nature, after all, given that she was a seer.

“Your heart _was _in Kirkwall, but it’s not there anymore. A hawk is bringing it here,” said Maxine.

“Good, I was wondering why I lacked a pulse as of late,” said Gwendolyn blandly.

“Not your anatomical heart, Gwen,” said Maxine. The ginger elf regarded Gwendolyn over the text she had been reading, taking in the other girl’s painfully bored expression as she gazed out the window. “That does no good, you know.”

“I wonder what snow is like,” said Gwendolyn distantly.

“Said the ice mage to the seer,” replied Maxine.

“I’ve read books that describe it as cloud-like. Do you think it’s really like that?” mused Gwendolyn.

“I think it’s a moot point, is what I think. Please, Gwen, you know such an exercise is pointless,” said Maxine.

“I’m an ice mage who’s never seen snow. There’s a cruel irony in there somewhere,” said Gwendolyn.

“At least you can leave sometimes,” said Maxine, then immediately regretted her words. The seer knew that most of the other mages at the Circle were beyond jealous of Gwendolyn for it. But Maxine knew better. She had been Gwendolyn’s roommate, after all. And you can’t reasonably ignore your best friend when she comes back nearly in tears after every visit home, and not because she was sorry to leave. Maxine knew and even if she hadn’t already surmised that Gwendolyn’s family was nothing short of nightmarish, there was the ever-present Knight-Captain Cador to remind her that the Trevelyans were, by in large, the worst kind of nobles. All expect Gwendolyn, who Maxine just found…sad.

“Hmm, yes, I suppose,” said Gwendolyn, with absolutely no feeling behind it.

“At least it isn’t Kirkwall. It could always be worse,” said Maxine.

“And here I thought you all had such a _lovely _time in Kirkwall,” said Gwendolyn.

“Didn’t you hear? The Knight-Commander there went mad and turned into a statue after trying order the Rite of Annulment on the Circle there,” said Maxine.

That much got Gwendolyn’s attention. She tore her gaze away from the window to properly look at her friend. “_What _happened?”

“You heard me. The woman turned into a statue. Don’t rightly know how that happened, but results are results, right?” said Maxine.

“That may be a _bit _too exciting for me,” allowed Gwendolyn.

Maxine relaxed back into the stiff wooden chair she was sitting in and smoothed the pages of the herbalist’s manual in front of her. “Everything will work out in the end, Gwen; I’m certain of it. Besides, the hawk is bringing your heart from Kirkwall.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that my heart has never been anywhere other than in my chest? Honestly, there are dozens of anatomy textbooks in this library,” said Gwendolyn.

Maxine wiggled her eyebrows at Gwendolyn. “Oh, I know.”

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes.

\---

Hawke had never been to Ostwick and she hadn’t really known what to expect. A less racist version of Kirkwall, perhaps? With fewer relics of Tevinter slavery? The only thing she knew about Ostwick was that the city had doubled walls around the perimeter. Well, and that Isabella had been there a few times. Other than that, Hawke didn’t know what to expect.

She certainly hadn’t expected a beautiful, harborside port city at the base of a hill. She hadn’t expected the spiraling white towers that stretched into the sky, the lighthouse far out nearly in the bay, or truly how enormous those walls were. It seemed cleaner than Kirkwall was, though slightly less majestic than Starkhaven. All right, so Starkhaven was beyond majestic compared to all these other places, but Ostwick was nice too. It seemed stable, quiet, and peaceful. It was as if life was simply slower here in Ostwick, and more relaxed. The sea air was warm, the streets were lined with trees that provided just enough shade, and the entire city seemed organized around a gorgeous city square, complete with bubbling fountain.

That being said, the Osts clearly valued religion more than most. The chantry was massive and positioned prominently off of the central city square right across from the Teyrn’s castle, with both buildings made of white stone with slate roofing. Incidentally, it was the castle that provided the tallest of the white towers. Hawke felt that this might be where they locked up princesses to be rescued by brave knights. Radiating off the square were the massive noble estates for all the banns of Ostwick, with the most prominent being positioned closest to the square.

The whole damn place seemed to be straight out of a charming fairy story, in Hawke’s opinion, which probably meant that it was rife with corruption. The Seeker seemed to agree with her.

The Circle of Ostwick, like most circles, was located in a Circle tower. The difference between this Circle and the Gallows, however, was that this one was located on the side of a hill with a bustling town square before it surrounded by little shops and not in the place where Tevinter used to store their slaves. The structure was a massive white and black thing with landscaping nice enough to make you think that it wasn’t _actually _a glorified jail for mages. The templars surrounding the place, however, along with the massive wall surrounding the perimeter, were something of a giveaway. 

“I don’t like this,” said Anders to the surprise of no one.

“We’re breaking someone _out_, you know. No one is locking us in here,” reassured Hawke.

“You had better be right about this mage, Champion,” said Cassandra stiffly.

“Come now, Seeker, live a little,” said Varric.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

The templars at the gate took one look at the visitors and decided that trouble had come to the Ostwick Circle.

“Declare yourselves,” said one of the templars.

“Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, with Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford of Kirkwall, and the Champion of Kirkwall, among others,” said Cassandra.

The templars opened the gate without another word.

A similar thing happened with the templars guarding the heavy front doors to the tower as well, but once inside they met very little resistance. The templars, it seemed, just generally didn’t care that much here.

That didn’t stop Anders from being tense. “You know, I spent most of my life trying to _escape _from Circle towers.”

“I am aware,” said Cullen.

“Is that a threat, Knight-Commander?” asked Anders coolly.

“Kirkwall’s Circle had enough problems without adding _you _into the mix. You don’t honestly think that we hadn’t realized you were there, did you?” said Cullen.

Anders looked taken aback.

“Better to have you run a healing clinic under the scrutiny of the Guard than inciting rebellion and mass-escape within the Circle,” said Cullen irritably. He did not know that Anders had done precisely that whilst running the aforementioned clinic in Darktown, and that was likely for the best.

“Well, I guess you’re not wholly evil after all, Templar,” said Anders. “Though I don’t appreciate you keeping tabs on me.”

Cullen shot him a look.

“Let’s just break this princess out of her ivory tower first, okay? Then the two of you can argue about this later,” said Varric. 

The interior of the tower lacked the city’s charm and warmth. The tower was made of stone, as most towers are, and it seemed perpetually cold and damp within its walls. The windows were small and allowed only minimal light inside, everything seemed a bit old, and everything just felt rather…muted. It felt as if all color had been washed out of the place, leaving only a tired, resigned sense of finality and emptiness behind.

A bored templar on the first floor saw the party and offered to show them to the Knight-Commander’s office. He didn’t ask why they were there. The templars at the Ostwick Circle were well paid to not ask questions of visitors, after all.

“Does everyone around here seem just a bit too helpful to anyone else?” said Varric.

“Because they are corrupt. I’m sure you know nothing of such things, dwarf,” said Cassandra distastefully.

“Seeker, you wound me,” replied Varric as he clutched his heart dramatically.

Cassandra didn’t knock before unceremoniously shoving open the door to the Knight-Commander’s office and storming inside. The Knight-Commander was an older gentleman with greying brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was a rather large man, towering over most everyone. He had once been made of pure muscle in his younger days, but age and an easy lifestyle had replaced much of that muscle and let his physique slide. After all, it’s not as if Ostwick was all that exciting of a station. They maybe had one abomination or blood mage every few years, but for the most part, it was a rather sedate place.

He had been sitting at his desk reading through some mid-afternoon paperwork and was understandably startled to suddenly have all these people appear in his office.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Knight-Commander Harmond, I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine. The purpose of my visit is twofold. Firstly, it has come to my attention that the templars here have lowered themselves to accepting bribes and allowed themselves to be corrupted by the coin of the nobility. Second, I have come to retrieve a mage for the Divine’s knight-enchanter program. I expect you to bring her here to me and then I will conduct a thorough investigation of this Circle until the source of the corruption is snuffed out,” declared Cassandra.

It was, perhaps, the worst-case scenario for the Knight-Commander. Still, he knew how to shift blame off of himself. “No investigation required, Seeker. You want the source? It’s my knight-captain. He and his family think they run the place.”

“Is that so?” said Cassandra tersely.

“Now, what mage did you need to see? You said that you were recruiting?” said Knight-Commander Harmond, eager to change the subject.

“Yes. Gwendolyn Trevelyan. Bring her to me. She is no longer your concern,” said Cassandra.

“Ah. Yes, well, that particular mage might pose something of a problem. She’s my knight-captain’s sister, you see, and that family of hers—” began Harmond.

“I did not _ask _who her family was, nor are they my concern. Have her and her phylactery brought to me immediately,” snapped Cassandra.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said Harmond lightly.

Cassandra looked ready to explode.

“Ordinarily she’d be easy to find, what with Knight-Captain Cador dogging her every step, but I understand the Trevelyans are throwing some sort of grand ball tonight. They’re both at the Trevelyan estate and will be until late tonight,” said the Knight-Commander.

“You allow your charges to roam free with the oversight of only one corrupted, biased templar?!” fumed Cassandra.

“The Trevelyans—” began the Knight-Commander in defense.

Cassandra slammed her fist down on the table, making everyone jump. “You are the Knight-Commander of this Circle! You serve the Order, not some noble family! I do not know how these nobles have seized all control over you, but they have clearly bought your loyalty and your negligence. It is reprehensible! You are a disgrace to the Order!”

Knight-Commander Harmond looked mortified.

“Where is Lady Trevelyan’s phylactery?” asked Cullen.

Harmond’s eyes flicked from Cullen to Cassandra and then back again. “I, uh, don’t have it.”

“You _what_?!” roared Cassandra.

“Then where _is _her phylactery?” asked Cullen, growing angrier by the moment.

“The Knight-Captain—” began Harmond.

“Is it you or the Knight-Captain who truly runs this Circle?” asked Cassandra.

“You don’t understand. The Trevelyans—” Harmond once more attempted.

“Are throwing a party tonight, you say?” said Varric, cutting off the Seeker’s inevitable rebuttal. This was getting them nowhere

Cassandra shifted her fiery gaze to Varric, daring him to interrupt her again.

The Knight-Commander nodded eagerly. “At their estate here in the city. There will be plenty of templars there to keep watch of her, of course, including my knight-captain.”

“Hmm, well, looks like I need to go shopping,” said Hawke. “Shall we leave, then?”

“We are not finished here, Harmond. I will be conducting a formal investigation into your negligence. This sort of corruption and bribery has no place in the Chantry,” declared Cassandra grandly as she turned on her heels and stormed out of the room.

“Since when?” grumbled Anders.

Hawke patted his arm lovingly. “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

Bann Trevelyan’s estate in downtown Ostwick was only right around the corner from both the Chantry and the Teyrn’s estate, making it one of the most distinguished and remarkable places in all of Ostwick. With its gleaming white brick façade, large windows, and towers, it was really quite the architectural marvel. And that night, as everyone who was anyone descended upon the place for a grand gala, the estate was on display for all its glory.

Once inside, it became apparent that the outside did not give the interior’s splendor justice. All the floors were white marble, but instead of gilded accents as the Orlesians would have it, they instead had silver and crystal accents everywhere. The Trevelyan crest, with its white horse emblazoned on a field of light and dark blue diamonds, was displayed prominently on the walls along with elegant landscapes and portraits of past banns. All the furniture seemed designed to match the theme, being composed principally of light and dark blue velvet with silver accents. All the lighting in the estate came from crystal sconces and chandeliers, with the grandest of them all being on display in the ballroom.

“This girl is an ice mage, you say?” said Varric as the party made their way into the vestibule.

“That she is,” said Hawke as she scanned the room in vain hope of being lucky enough to find the Inquisitor within seconds of arriving.

“I guess that’s fitting, given that she lives in an ice palace,” scoffed Varric.

“If she’s a Circle mage, she doesn’t live here. Not really. The Circles see to it that mages never properly live at home again,” said Anders.

Hawke patted his arm gently. “From what I know of her family, the Circle may honestly be an improvement. That being said, we _are _here to rescue the ice princess, so shall we?”

“This is all too reminiscent of that trip to Orlais you dragged us on with that Talis woman,” said Anders.

“Yes, well, there should be fewer wyverns at this party. Or at least, I hope there are,” said Hawke.

“This is ridiculous. Let us find this mage and be done with it,” said Cassandra irritably.

Cullen just shifted uncomfortably, not saying much. Templars never attended balls like this and what’s more, he didn’t at _all _appreciate how people were looking at him. He’d been wrestled into a dress uniform instead of armor as well, and he was patently uncomfortable. He missed his armor. His armor, he felt safe in. But this? He hated everything about this.

Hawke didn’t seem to mind. She was dressed in a shimmering midnight black evening gown the same color as her hair and was rather enjoying the prospect of showing it off. Anders, at least, had seemed appreciative of her dress earlier. That, Hawke, felt was something of a victory.

It was decided that in order to best track down the mage in question, they had best split up, and so they did. Hawke and Anders went off together, finding safety in numbers as the only mages present among the group. The rest wandered off on their own, with Varric hoping to find some fans of his books among the party guests, and the warriors just wanting to leave as soon as physically possible.

\---

Gwendolyn Trevelyan was having a perfectly mediocre day before the son of a Tevinter magister propositioned her. _That _had made her day decidedly horrible instead of mediocre. She could have done without the sonnet, really. The sonnet had just been adding insult to injury. _A mage as powerful as you could surely give rise to the next Archon. Together, we could take the Magisterium by storm!_ Or, and Gwendolyn found this infinitely more likely, she could turn _down _such an offer and _not _be treated like a breeder by a slave-owning probable blood mage.

It went without saying that her blunt refusal of the prominent member of the Magisterium was met with the utter _fury_ of the Trevelyan collective, particularly Bann Trevelyan and Cador, who had made _no _secret of their discontent. It was to the end of this discontent that Gwendolyn found herself dragged away in the middle of a party to her father’s study with both men as her only company.

No sooner had the door shut than Cador dispelled the room and Gwendolyn dropped to her knees like a stone in a pool of her glittering skirts, struggling to regain her bearings and catch her breath. Her head pounded, and her muscles cried out in agony. Stars danced before her eyes.

Bann Trevelyan rounded on her.

“You _useless_, ungrateful, _worthless _little witch!” roared Bann Trevelyan as he paced before his desk, his face turning a bright red to contrast his dark blue doublet and white-blonde hair.

Gwendolyn still struggled to catch her breath, and thus could say nothing in her defense.

“A Tevinter magister! You had a _magister_ offer to take you away and rather than accept him as is your _duty_, _you _reject him like the worthless baggage that you are! Do you have any idea how much work and planning has gone into furthering your position? How much _coin_? And what do you do with all of our hard work and effort on _your _behalf? You squander it like the wretch that you are! Filthy mage. You should be so _lucky_ as to be spirited away to heretic Tevinter. You should be _glad_ that even the blood mages will have you, seeing as no one of worth in the civilized world will ever accept you! But no, you couldn’t be bothered to fulfill your obligations to this family. And why? Because you are an ungrateful, selfish piece of shit who isn’t worthy of the space she takes up, never mind the Trevelyan name. You are a disgrace—a black stain on this family and our reputation!” raged Bann Trevelyan as he paced about the grand office.

“He owns slaves and was bragging about how he abuses them. I won’t be sold off like livestock at auction just so that you can more gain political allies in the Imperium,” said Gwendolyn through her pain.

She knew that her parents didn’t love her. She had long given up hope of that. But that didn’t mean she was just going to knuckle under and suffer. She still had a backbone, after all.

A loud crack sounded through the room and Gwendolyn’s once more saw stars as her father slapped her hard across the face.

“_You _are a failure—a selfish, insignificant piece of trash who has been a curse upon this family for decades. And yet we have sheltered you, clothed you, tried in _vain_ to provide you with a future of which you have repeatedly demonstrated how unworthy you are. Understand this, Gwendolyn: if you do not do as you are told and fulfill your obligations to this family, you will find tranquility a _mercy_, am I clear?” seethed Bann Trevelyan, his voice quiet and dripping with danger.

Cador dragged her roughly to her feet, his grip on her upper arm bruising.

“Get her out of my sight. Put her in the garden where she can recover what little dignity she possesses. This night may yet be salvaged,” said the Bann as he poured himself a drink from the shelf by the wall.

Cador nodded and forcibly dragged Gwendolyn from the room and down a series of side hallways before leading her out the back door into the gardens. The gardens were open for the party but had the advantage of being comparatively dark to the ballroom. Yes, that way no one could properly see how red half of Gwendolyn’s face was or see the tears that blurred her vision.

It was only once they reached the terrace near the ballroom that Cador finally released her arm and all but tossed her to the ground. “Pull yourself together and don’t even _think _about trying something unless you like the idea of solitary confinement for the next month.”

With that, Cador melted into the darkness, probably to harass someone else.

Gwendolyn staggered to her feet and smoothed her dress with shaking hands. This night was going about as poorly as Gwendolyn had suspected. Maxine’s farewell hug had been perhaps just a bit _too_ friendly that morning, which had been all the hint Gwendolyn had needed to know just how badly the party would turn out. Still, her father’s words echoed through her mind, her worst fears and insecurities seizing them and using them as fuel for the fire.

There was no way that this was going to end well for her. She couldn’t marry that Magister. She just couldn’t. But if her parents had absolutely _any _say in the matter, she’d be packed up and shipped off to the Imperium in the morning. She couldn’t do that. And yet, what choice did she have? Her future was not her own. Her path was not her own. She barely had a say in what clothes she wore, never mind her own future.

It was hopeless, and as Gwendolyn found an unoccupied stone bench nearby a hedge of white roses, she felt a chill begin to seep into her bones. She had never felt so alone or so useless in her life. Nobody loved her. Nobody cared. Her family didn’t care. Maxine only pitied her, just like First Enchanter Lydia. There was a void in her heart that out to have been filled with love, but instead, was slowly filling with ice. So, this is how it would be; her heart would slowly freeze over until she was entirely numb to the world and barely a shell of a person. She might as well be made tranquil. At least if she were tranquil or dead nothing would hurt anymore.

Not even the stars or the full moon in the otherwise clear night sky could distract her from her misery.

“Are you all right?” came a voice from somewhere to her right, smooth and warm like hot tea with honey and lemon, a balm to her soul to stave off the cold.

Gwendolyn hadn’t expected company and she jumped as she turned to see a tall, handsome man wearing a templar dress uniform with styled honey blonde hair, amber eyes, and a concerned expression.

Her eyes darted to the sword of mercy emblazoned on his coat and then back at his face, misery temporarily displaced by raw fear. His badge of rank had one more bar on it than Cador’s: A knight-commander.

The last thing Cullen had wanted to do was upset this poor girl more than she already was. Here she was sitting alone and crying and now she looked petrified. He really just wasn’t very good at speaking to women, was he? Still, he truly was just a gentleman attempting to comfort someone crying, and so he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her as one might to a wounded animal.

She looked at the handkerchief and then back at him in wary confusion.

And that’s when it clicked for Cullen: she was a mage. That’s why she was so afraid.

Cullen sighed heavily. “I’m not going to hurt you or make you tranquil for being upset. I only want to help.”

Gwendolyn reluctantly took the handkerchief offered to her, trying to read the man before her and finding that she couldn’t quite place him. He wasn’t one of the usual guests at her parents’ soirees and he certainly wasn’t one of the Ostwick templars. If that was the case, maybe he _wasn’t _a horrid person. Maybe not all templars existed for the singular purpose of torturing mages. Maybe, just maybe, once in a blue moon, a decent one did make themselves known.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Cullen.

Gwendolyn laughed humorlessly, but it sounded more akin to a broken sob. “It depends. How much sway do you have with Bann Trevelyan?”

“I’m afraid that I have never met the man,” said Cullen.

“Lucky you, then,” said Gwendolyn as she stared at the ground instead of him.

She turned her head and Cullen caught a glimpse of the welt on her cheek, clearly from someone hitting her. Seeing that stirred something deep and primal within Cullen—the need to protect, to defend, to avenge. It was bizarre for Cullen. It had been years since he’d felt anything for anyone, and yet, here was this girl who he had scarcely spoken to who he felt an overwhelming urge to keep her safe. Absently, he wondered if this was blood magic, but he knew that it wasn’t. Not this girl; she wasn’t a blood mage. You could usually tell which ones were. No, she didn’t seem the blood magic type, but rather just…broken. He could sympathize with that. He knew what it was to reach the end of your rope and lose all hope of things getting better. And, he had a feeling, so did she.

“Did he hit you?” asked Cullen, the threat in his voice surprising even himself.

Gwendolyn sighed heavily, the weight of the world settling on her shoulders. “It’s not the first time. It’s what happens when you’re the family disappointment, a black stain on the family tree, and a waste of family time and resources.”

“There is no excuse for abuse,” said Cullen.

“It is when you view the other person as a commodity rather than a person. I’m an ill-liked pet, not a daughter. Not really. They’d happily ship me off to the first nobleman who’d have me, just to get rid of me and advance their own position,” said Gwendolyn bitterly.

“But you are a mage,” said Cullen, as if it were obvious that marriage was not, to his knowledge, permitted by the Chantry for mages.

“_Excellent _observation, Ser Templar. I am well aware that in Andrastian Thedas, I am a glorified prisoner, and the concept is far from lost on my dear parents. But the Imperium has no such rules, and thus I find myself being tossed at any unmarried magister worth his salt, regardless of how many slaves he owns or how much blood magic he practices, _just _so that they can be rid of me and earn more political allies. The hypocrisy is almost painful,” said Gwendolyn.

Cullen didn’t know quite what to say to that. What was happening to this girl was appalling at best and he was suddenly very glad that they were at this party for the express purpose of taking her away from this life. After all, this was clearly the ice mage Hawke had spoken of, yes?

Luckily for Cullen and his inability to form coherent thoughts around her, Gwendolyn had finally found a sympathetic ear and eagerly exploited it. “I should be glad to be out of the Circle when I’m here. Most mages I know would kill to be let out to see their families, but this isn’t the blessing they think it is. Oh yes, a grand party at the bann’s estate teeming with a veritable who’s who of Ostwick and beyond—what isn’t to love? After so long being trapped in that prison of a tower, they’ve even managed to ruin the stars for me. The only time I can see the outside world and what do I get for it? Maker, someone certainly has a cruel sense of humor.”

“I am sorry that this is happening to you,” said Cullen, for lack of a better response. She may be a mage, but this woman did not seem to share the evil he had witnessed in others. She was not Uldred. She was not Orsino. She was not a monster masquerading as a person. He knew that.

Gwendolyn leaned back and rested her head on the garden wall behind her as she stared dismally up at the night sky that glittered with stars. “They say it’s warm in Tevinter. I suppose they have stars there, even in the heretical north, but it’s so dreadfully warm. I doubt it snows there. It doesn’t snow here either. Does it snow where you’re from, Ser Templar? Your accent is Fereldan, unless I am mistaken.”

“From southern Ferelden, yes,” said Cullen, uncertain why he was bothering to tell her this. “It snows a great deal.”

Gwendolyn perked up slightly and looked at him hopefully. “It does? What is it like?”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Like snow. Why do you ask?”

“Well…it’s just that I’ve never seen snow. I’m an ice mage who’s never seen snow, can you imagine? I’ve studied a great deal about it and read books on the subject, but I’ve never actually experienced it. Is it truly fluffy and cloud-like?” she asked eagerly.

“When it first falls, perhaps. Overall, I would more likely describe it as cold and inconvenient,” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn was crestfallen. “Oh. Well, I suppose that’s all right then; I won’t be missing anything when I’m shipped off to Tevinter then. Besides some semblance of sanity, of course.”

“Are you so certain that you are to be sent to Tevinter?” asked Cullen.

“My parents are quite determined to have me marry this vile excuse for a magister, yes. And what the bann and his wife want, they typically get. That, or the bann has threatened to make my life so miserable I would wish for tranquility, which to be perfectly honest, I find difficult to imagine. Tranquility is already worse than death, so I do not wish to consider what might be _worse _than that,” said Gwendolyn.

“What if you did not have to go to Tevinter?” said Cullen.

“A templar with a sense of humor? Odd, I thought they beat that out of you around the same time they gave you all lyrium addictions,” said Gwendolyn blandly.

“Lady Trevelyan, I am Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Kirkwall Circle and I have come here tonight with the Right Hand of the Divine and the Champion of Kirkwall to recruit you, in a sense. The Champion may explain this much better, I fear. If any in our party has our way, you will not be traveling to Tevinter any time soon,” said Cullen. 

Gwendolyn hardly knew which bit to focus on first. “Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander is the woman who turned into a statue, is she not?”

“Knight-Commander Meredith, yes. I was her Knight-Captain and have since assumed command of what is left of Kirkwall’s templars and the Circle there,” explained Cullen.

“Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me. _You _are the Knight-Captain? Were you, by any chance, still the Knight-Captain, say, five years ago when a number of mages from Ostwick visited the Circle there in Kirkwall?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I do seem to recall that,” said Cullen.

“Maker’s Breath, of course you were. It all makes sense now,” grumbled Gwendolyn.

“Pardon?” asked Cullen. It was his turn to be very much confused.

“Half my damn Circle came back from that trip and would _not _cease gushing about how _cute _the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall was. For _weeks _I had to hear about that. Seeing you now, I suppose that makes a bit more sense. You _do _have nice hair,” Gwendolyn grudgingly admitted.

Cullen did not know how to take a complement, especially not from pretty girls he was meant to have a future with. “Thank you—I—um—what?”

Gwendolyn waved it away, supplementing a proper answer with a new question of her own. “What precisely do three important people from _Kirkwall_ and the Divine’s side want with _me_? I’m hardly remarkable, except perhaps insofar as my family is remarkably _dreadful_, but I hardly see how that would warrant such authoritative intervention.”

“As I said, the Champion may explain this far better than I ever could, but suffice it say that there is to be an Inquisition and the Champion is very much under the impression that you are meant to play an integral part of its leadership,” half-explained Cullen.

“An _Inquisition_? Whatever for? Is this because of what happened in Kirkwall?” wondered Gwendolyn.

“In part. The Champion seems to be under the impression that one of the original Darkspawn Magisters that tainted the Black City will soon be a plague upon southern Thedas and that an Inquisition is needed to stop such a future from becoming a reality, or at the very least to stop him,” said Cullen.

“Oh, is that all?” said Gwendolyn.

“Unfortunately not, but Serah Hawke seems to be under the impression that some measure of time travel is involved, and I do not care enough for magic to even begin to explain that mess,” said Cullen.

“I’m sorry, who?” said Gwendolyn.

“Who?”

“Who’s under the impression that time travel is involved? A purely theoretical magic, I might add. People have tried for centuries and never worked that bit out, thankfully,” said Gwendolyn.

“Serah Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. And though that may be something of a relief, that does not presently appear to be the case,” said Cullen.

“Hawke. Her name is _Hawke_?” said Gwendolyn.

“Quite famously, yes. Is something the matter?” asked Cullen.

Gwendolyn groaned. She was never going to live this down. “Oh, nothing _much_. Only that I have a friend at the Circle who’s a seer. Maxine. Lovely girl, but she does have a habit of making some dreadfully vague predictions. Most of the time it only relates to what is being served for dinner next week or the like, but she does have some rather odd ones. Just the other day, for instance, she said that ‘the hawk is bringing your heart from Kirkwall’, which is patently absurd given that my heart has only ever been in my chest where it ought to be, but she did apparently get the Hawke bit right.”

Cullen knew precisely what it meant. It meant that the Champion wasn’t lying about him and Gwendolyn in their future. It meant that the reason he found her to be beautiful, intelligent, and witty was because he was meant to more than anyone else. He wanted to protect her because he was meant to do so and meant to care for her in every way possible. Cullen did not know what he had done to deserve such a woman, or how in the world this was all meant to work when he was a templar and she was a mage, but at the moment, to his shock, he did not care. All that mattered at the moment was removing her from this poisonous house and getting her as far away from her wretched family as was physically possible. Maybe to somewhere with snow so that she might properly appreciate it for herself.

“I will not pretend to understand the mind of a seer, but I do know that we are very much here to remove you from this…situation,” said Cullen.

“But why me specifically? It hardly makes any sense,” said Gwendolyn.

“Lady Trevelyan, I can assure you that absolutely _none _of this makes any sense, so shall we be leaving?” asked Cullen as he held out his hand to her.

“Now? Do you not anticipate any resistance from my family?” said Gwendolyn as she reluctantly accepted his hand.

“I anticipate a great deal of resistance, which is why I am not here alone. I assure you that Seeker Pentaghast is more than equal to whatever show of force your family might present,” said Cullen as he gently helped her to her feet.

“I think you underestimate the bann,” said Gwendolyn blandly. She refused to agree with the other girls in her Circle. She refused to acknowledge that this man looked as if he were sculped as the male ideal by one of the finest artists in Val Royeaux. He was a templar, after all, and one from _Kirkwall _no less. No, she shouldn’t trust this man with absolutely anything, even the time of day. So, he was charming; so what? Anyone could be charming if they were hiding behind an ulterior motive. Still, he didn’t seem the sort. He was, after all, one of the few people who had ever asked if she was all right. That was something, she supposed.

“You may rethink your position upon meeting Seeker Pentaghast,” said Cullen in light amusement, a small smile pulling at the fresh scar above his lip.

Gwendolyn hated herself for finding that incredibly attractive. _He’s a templar_, she told herself. _You’re just lucky he hasn’t made you tranquil for crying in front of him_.

Before Gwendolyn could ask him what precisely their grand plan was for extracting her from her parents’ home _and _the Circle, movement behind Cullen from the shadows of the garden caught her eye. The assassin was dressed all in black, wielding two deadly daggers, and shrouded in magic as he crept towards them, the metal of his spiked helmet gleaming in the light that spilled from the ballroom.

She reacted on impulse, freezing him instinctively with a Winter’s Grasp spell and a yelp of fright, covering her mouth with her hands. Cullen whipped around, the magic sending him on edge and igniting the lyrium in his veins. The assassin stood frozen in place, his daggers at the ready and only a few feet away from them. Cullen immediately reached for his sword, then quietly cursed. Dress uniforms did not allow for such things at formal events. Oddly, it was good that Lady Trevelyan was a mage after all.

“An assassin?” said Cullen, his mind reeling at the implications and frustrated by his lack of weaponry.

“Please don’t make me tranquil for this,” breathed Gwendolyn.

He looked at her incredulously, tranquility the farthest thing from his mind, and not just because her magic had just saved both of their lives.

But they weren’t the only ones who could sense magic by far at the party, and so it was mere moments later that Hawke, Anders, Cassandra, Varric (who was dragged by proximity), Knight-Captain Cador, and a young Tevinter with a fancy mustache all raced onto the terrace.

“You! Have you not already done enough damage tonight that you would go this far? Attacking guests now, are you? Solitary confinement is too good for you,” spat Cador furiously as he moved to apprehend Gwendolyn.

Cullen positioned himself between the Knight-Captain and his frightened charge. “Stand down, Knight-Captain. This mage is no longer your concern.”

“To the void with that! I don’t know who you think you are—” began Cador furiously.

“Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford of Kirkwall, and this mage is being transferred to our Circle, making her no longer your concern,” said Cullen firmly.

“She is to be recruited for the Divine’s knight-enchanter program and is to be remanded into my and the Knight-Commander’s custody for the time being. Your service is no longer required. Hand over her phylactery,” ordered Cassandra.

Faced with both a knight-commander _and _the Right Hand of the Divine, Cador was backed into a corner and he couldn’t exactly refuse. Still, he didn’t have to be happy about it. He retrieved the glowing vial from his pocket and shoved it at Cullen with a sneer. “You’d be better off making her tranquil. That _filth _is nothing but trouble.”

“We’ll take your recommendation under advisement,” said Cullen, who clearly had no intention of doing that.

With that, Cador stalked off into the ballroom in search of the bann.

“I see you found our ice mage, then?” reasoned Anders.

“Lady Trevelyan, is it?” said Hawke as she peered around Cullen to see the ice mage in the glittering light blue gown.

Gwendolyn was having a rather trying evening. “And you are?”

“Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. We’re here to rescue you from your ivory tower,” said Hawke as she shook Gwendolyn’s cold hand.

“So, I’ve heard,” said Gwendolyn uncertainly.

“Well, this is all rather fascinating. I do wonder, however, why Venatori assassins are attacking you in a garden and you are freezing them into blocks of ice?” said the Tevinter nobleman.

Having largely ignored his presence until then, they all turned to look at him.

Hawke glanced between the frozen assassin and the newcomer, realizing who the man was. “Dorian Pavus, is it?”

“You know me?” said Dorian, basking in the notoriety of being recognized.

“It’s a bit of a long story, actually,” said Hawke.

“What are Venatori?” asked Gwendolyn.

“A Tevinter nationalist cult that wants to bring back the glory days, as it were. Strange to see those zealots this far south, though,” said Dorian. “Of course, not as strange as seeing this lot coming to the aid of a southern Circle mage, which is _still _not as strange as how you lot _treat _your Circle mages.”

“Champion, you know this man?” asked Cassandra.

“He’s part of the Inquisition as well, oddly enough,” said Hawke.

“Broody must have loved that,” muttered Varric.

“An Inquisition? I do beg your pardon?” said Dorian.

“I was rather curious about that as well,” said Gwendolyn.

“In 9:41 Dragon, the Divine is killed when the Temple of Sacred Ashes explodes, and the person responsible is someone by the name of Corypheus, who’s actually one of the original Magisters who entered the Black City. After the Divine dies and the Conclave is destroyed, an Inquisition is founded to find her murderer, with Lady Trevelyan here acting as Inquisitor. Serah Pavus here joins after some time travel business with a magister in Redcliffe, or so I’m led to believe, and becomes part of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, along with Varric and Seeker Pentaghast, while the Knight-Commander here becomes the military advisor, the Left Hand of the Divine becomes the spymaster, and they collectively help lead the Inquisition and build it into a force that rivals nations and ultimately saves Thedas from Corypheus,” explained Hawke.

Dorian and Gwendolyn both stared at her.

“And you know this _how_?” asked Dorian.

“A bit of an odd explanation, I’m afraid, but suffice it to say that my mind is the Hawke from several years from now and when I was walking home from Weisshaupt—the Grey Wardens are involved, it’s rather complicated—I was attacked by one of these Venatori who sent me here, presumably switching me with the other me. But things are different in this timeline. There hasn’t been a war between the mages and the templars, the Circles haven’t all dissolved, and so the Conclave will not be called, but Corypheus remains a threat. We’re working to establish the Inquisition now before disaster has the chance to strike,” said Hawke.

“We’ve experimented with time magic, but it was all theoretical,” considered Dorian pensively.

Gwendolyn was still focused on the other bit. “I’m sorry, you think _I’m _going to be the Inquisitor? Me? You honestly think that the _Chantry _is going to appoint a _mage _to lead an Inquisition?”

“They all believe you to be the Herald of Andraste because you survived the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and can close rifts to the Fade. Oh, that’s right, you don’t have the mark. Hmm, well, we’ll figure that bit out later,” said Hawke flippantly.

Gwendolyn stared at her. “The _Herald of Andraste_? Maker’s Breath, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not even religious! And have I mentioned that_ I am a mage_? I can’t close _Fade rifts_! I can’t lead an Inquisition. Maker’s Breath, I can’t even be alone for five minutes in a garden before a templar shows up.” She glanced at Cullen. “No offense meant, of course. You seem like a perfectly reasonable jailer.”

“Gwendolyn. Lady Trevelyan. Look. I know that this is a lot to take in at the moment, but I promise you that I am not lying. This isn’t even meant to happen for several years, so you have time to warm up to the idea and to become the woman you’re meant to be,” said Hawke.

“Regardless of your position on the matter, Lady Trevelyan, you are being removed from Ostwick. The…situation here, combined with the apparent presence of assassins, gives me more than enough cause to have you transferred to Kirkwall where we might sort this mess out properly,” said Cassandra.

“Or you could always stay with me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a house guest,” said Hawke.

Cassandra frowned at her.

Hawke shifted her attention to Dorian. “Though I’m sure you didn’t plan on this, I would very much appreciate your assistance in the matter as well.”

“I’ve always appreciated a good puzzle, and this is certainly more interesting than whatever the magisterium is cooking up these days. Besides, it sounds an awful lot like time magic is involved, and I admit to having dabbled in the stuff not long ago,” mused Dorian.

“Wonderful, then shall we get out of here before the banns of Ostwick collectively realize just how many mages there are here and send us _all _to a Circle?” said Anders.

“Is this entire Inquisition just mages and templars?” wondered Gwendolyn.

“Hey, hey, and one charming dwarf,” said Varric.

Gwendolyn didn’t even respond, just decided that she was having the sort of day where this all might as well happen.

“Lady Trevelyan, are your belongings here or at the Circle?” asked Cassandra.

“All of my worldly possessions are at the Circle. Well, I suppose my _evening gown _collection is here, but that doesn’t seem very practical,” said Gwendolyn.

“Back to the Circle it is, then,” said Hawke.

Anders made a face.

“We’re breaking her _out_,” said Hawke.

“Transferred is not the same as breaking out,” said Anders.

“Not to be a bother and cut short what I am _certain _would be just a fascinating argument, but might we be leaving before my father appears? My brother _did _just disappear to go find him,” said Gwendolyn.

Given that this seemed a fairly reasonable point, the party began the seemingly arduous task of heading to the exit. The ballroom itself managed not to present that much of a challenge, but true to form, Bann Trevelyan, Knight-Captain Cador, and a number of Trevelyan guards were waiting for them at the main entrance. Gwendolyn couldn’t decide if she wanted to hide or scream or give them all a piece of her mind.

“I do not know who you lot are, but you are not taking my daughter with you. I demand that you release her immediately,” declared the Bann.

“She is being recruited into the Divine’s knight-enchanter program and is no longer your concern,” announced Cassandra stiffly.

“You have no right! I do not give my permission for this!” argued Bann Trevelyan.

“She is a Circle mage, and thus as Right Hand of the Divine, I do not _require _your permission, nor would I regardless. Furthermore, your flagrant abuse of Chantry law has not gone unnoticed and _will _have consequences,” said Cassandra.

“This is an outrage. I don’t care who you say you are, return my daughter immediately. Gwendolyn, come here,” barked the Bann, snapping his fingers and pointing to the ground beside him.

Gwendolyn didn’t move, simply fixed him with a frigid glare, the air around her cooling significantly.

“I suggest you move,” said Cassandra.

“Gwendolyn, come _here_,” ordered the Bann.

“I’m not your dog; you can’t order me about,” replied Gwendolyn, emboldened by small army of allies she’d suddenly acquired.

The Bann’s face was flushing red with anger. “You are a Trevelyan before anything else, now get _over _here, you ungrateful little witch!”

“You shoved me in a Circle when I was five-years-old. Seems to me that I’m a _mage_ before anything else, and you’re not using guilt to try and tie me to your family tree anymore. I am not your pet, not your property, and frankly, I want nothing to do with you _or _your plans for arranged marriages to foreign powers. Now stand aside, or I will _make _you stand aside,” said Gwendolyn, her voice a calm threat.

“Knight-Commander, she just threatened a peer of the realm. Are you truly just going to ignore this offense? She must be made tranquil for such actions!” exclaimed Cador.

“Did she? I’m afraid I’m rather hard of hearing. I heard nothing of the sort,” said Cullen. “You are, however, prohibiting a templar and the Right-Hand of the Divine from accomplishing their given mission, which I believe you will recall, is a punishable offense.”

“This is unacceptable! I will have words with your superiors!” fumed the Bann.

“The Divine will not hear your whining, no matter how much gold you toss at her,” spat Cassandra.

Gwendolyn was growing impatient. The longer they stood there and argued, the lower her chances of escaping became. They needed to leave before someone went and called for reinforcements or truly attacked them. She saw Cador twitch and glance at the Captain of the Guard. Yes, reinforcements would be arriving quite soon, and none of the people in her party were properly armed. Unless you counted the four mages, but they didn’t have staffs.

There was something of a gap between the Bann and the Captain of the guard, so Gwendolyn decided it was time to stop waiting around. Just as the Captain reached for his sword, she cast walls of ice between them, effectively trapping the Trevelyans and their men behind ten feet of spikes.

“Time to go,” she said quickly as she hurried through her makeshift tunnel.

“Nicely done,” said Hawke.

“That was uncalled for!” fumed Cassandra.

“I respectfully beg to differ. Or would you have preferred to fight our way out?” asked Gwendolyn expectantly from the front steps.

Cassandra made a face and stalked out of the building.

Cullen frowned at Gwendolyn. “That was unnecessary, and you did just attack an unarmed civilian.”

“The Bann is the most dangerous person in there, or did that also escape your notice?” said Gwendolyn expectantly.

“Your things are at the Circle, yes? I suggest we retrieve them. Now. Before you freeze more people,” said Hawke quickly. She grabbed Gwendolyn’s wrist and began dragging her down the street. Anders, Dorian, and Varric followed, given that this seemed the logical course of action.

“_This _is the woman meant to lead an Inquisition?” said Cassandra to no one in particular.

“I…assume this was an isolated incident,” said Cullen.

“Let us pray that you are correct. As it is, few would follow a mage, never mind an impulsive one who attacks those she disagrees with,” said Cassandra.

“I suppose we’ll see,” said Cullen.

\---

Gwendolyn was packing her belongings when a curious Maxine poked her head into the room. “Maker, Gwen, you’ve attracted quite the group.”

Albeit, the group is question had nothing on the much larger, much more curious group waiting in the main hall. Only Hawke and Cullen had come with her, but that was already more than enough to raise a few eyebrows. Maxine was lucky that she had not walked in on the earlier debate over whether or not freezing the Trevelyans behind a wall of ice was warranted. Cullen had, somehow, managed to lose the argument in favor of the ice wall.

Gwendolyn looked up from where she was shoving blouses into a trunk. “Maxine! I was hoping to see you. I have had the most _bizarre _day.”

Maxine fixed her with a wry smile. “I was right, wasn’t I? The hawk brought your heart from Kirkwall.”

Gwendolyn frowned at her. “How many times must we go through this? My heart is and has only ever been in my chest. Yes, Serah Hawke _did _come from Kirkwall and she _did _bring a rather curious group of people with her, but there are no hearts involved.”

“One would think that would be metaphorical, no?” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn stared at her blankly.

“Thank you! I do not know _how _many times I have tried to tell her that I do not mean the bloody thing in her chest,” exclaimed Maxine in exasperation.

“Your heart meaning a person. A lover, perhaps?” said Hawke.

Off to the side of the room, Cullen shifted uncomfortably on his feet, not that anyone paid him much mind.

Gwendolyn looked at her. “I am a mage; we are not _permitted_ lovers.”

“Not your present one, idiot. In the future. The great love of your life,” said Maxine.

Gwendolyn looked at her skeptically. “Oh, come now, that will never happen.”

“I was there. It happens. During the Inquisition, if you can believe that,” said Hawke.

“Are you a seer too?” asked Maxine excitedly.

“Err, not I’ve just…been to the future? Seen it, but not through visions,” said Hawke.

“And in this version, Gwen becomes the Inquisitor, yes? In the version you saw?” said Maxine. She glanced at Cullen briefly.

“Is there another version?” asked Hawke in surprise.

Maxine nodded, excited to finally have someone to spill all of this too. “Oh yes. Gwendolyn is most often the Inquisitor, and she always has her Crimson Lion.”

“My what?” asked Gwendolyn blankly.

Cullen’s face turned a bit red.

“Lavellan’s heart is broken by the Dread Wolf before he rises, Adaar has her Red Jenny, Cadash loves no one and is ruthless in his rise to power. All defeat the Magister, yet Thedas appears very different. Circles abolished or reaffirmed, an empress rises or falls, Redcliffe burned or saved, templars red with corrupted blood of titans,” said Maxine, lost in a daze.

“What in the world?” asked Gwendolyn softly.

“The other Inquisitors. All attend the Conclave, yet it changes who opens the door. Sometimes you do and you find your heart—the Crimson Lion who melts the ice and saves you from the cold. It doesn’t usually happen like this, though. You’re not supposed to meet for years. Your heart was _meant _to stay in Kirkwall…but Justice left when usually it stays, and now things are…strange,” said Maxine pensively.

“So, what you’re saying is that there are other people who are easily capable of leading this Inquisition instead of me,” reasoned Gwendolyn.

“And the ice in your heart will only melt if you allow the Crimson Lion to help you melt it. Honestly, Gwendolyn, I have tried to explain this to you a dozen times and you never seem to understand,” said Maxine.

“Perhaps if you were more _direct_, I might understand,” frowned Gwendolyn.

“How is it that you can rattle off spells and facts like no other, yet it is _this _that you utterly fail to grasp?” said Maxine.

“You speak in _riddles_,” argued Gwendolyn.

“Sweet Maker,” huffed Maxine as she grabbed her friend and spun her to face an alarmed Cullen. “The Crimson Lion of Honnleath has been in Kirkwall for years and normally is until the Conclave, at which point you meet him in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he becomes your military advisor, and you fall desperately in love across a war table. Or something. He melts the ice that the Trevelyans put around your heart, and you live happily ever after with a mabari in the countryside after the Dread Wolf rises.”

“Well, this saves me quite a bit of explaining,” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn looked between Cullen and Maxine in shock. She settled her gaze on her friend. “Not even half of that could possibly be true. I’m a mage, and he is a templar, which renders this entire conversation academic. You know as well as I do that we are not permitted to be involved with anyone, so what is this nonsense about retiring to a countryside with a dog and a templar?”

“The laws and rules of the Chantry no longer apply,” said Maxine.

“Be serious,” said Gwendolyn.

“It changes with each Inquisitor, each option, but you always get rid of the Circles. Mages are freed, which makes you free,” said Maxine.

“I don’t have that kind of influence,” said Gwendolyn.

“You will. You become the most powerful woman in Thedas,” said Maxine.

Of everything, Gwendolyn found this the most difficult to believe. She returned to her packing, letting out a bark of skeptical laughter. “Be serious, Max.”

“Honestly, is it truly that difficult to believe? Look who came to retrieve you. Your magic is strong, you’re incredibly bright, and you have the skills your noble upbringing taught you. You _can _be the leader Thedas will need, you just have to believe in yourself,” said Maxine.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes.

“Or just fake it. That’s always worked wonders for me,” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn made a face and shoved her last pair of boots into her trunk, forcing the lid shut. With a bit of quick magic, she shrunk the trunk down to the size of a loaf of bread and tossed it into a small bag.

“Ready to go?” asked Hawke.

Gwendolyn glanced down at her evening gown and then back at Hawke. She looked pointedly at the Champion. “I’m changing first.” She grabbed a stack of clothes and disappeared behind a changing screen, grumbling to herself as she went, “Not about to wear this damn corset and heels for any longer than necessary.”

“Do you need help? I’m sure the Commander would be more than happy to assist,” said Hawke with a wicked smile at Cullen.

“What? No!” said Cullen quickly.

“I’m a _mage_. I could lose an arm and I still wouldn’t need help _changing _of all things,” scoffed Gwendolyn. “And certainly not from a templar, however nice his hair is.”

Cullen looked a bit as if he was wishing for death.

Maxine bit her lip.

Gwendolyn emerged a few moments later wearing a pair of light grey pants, a teal shirt, and a white enchanter’s coat edged in ring velvet. She appeared significantly more comfortable in her own skin.

“Oh good, now you look like you. Shall we leave? I have a particularly antsy former Circle mage with me and he’s liable to stage a major jailbreak if we take too long,” said Hawke. After a pause she added, “On second thought, take as long as you’d like.”

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes and slung her bag over her shoulder along with her staff.

Maxine hugged her tightly. “Good luck, Gwendolyn. You’ll do great things, I know you will.”

“Here’s at least hoping I don’t completely mess this up,” said Gwendolyn.

“Try to remember us little people while you’re having tea with empresses, okay?” said Maxine.

Gwendolyn let out a snort of amusement. “Okay.”

With that, Gwendolyn, Hawke, and Cullen left her room and began the process of leaving the Circle tower. It was a long way down innumerable stairs, but eventually they made it to the main entranceway, where the Knight-Commander, Knight-Captain (who was still in his damp dress uniform and rather unhappy about being on the receiving end of ice magic), and First Enchanter were all gathered along with the rest of the party.

Dorian seemed to be fascinated by the whole ordeal.

“I mean, you truly do lock your southern mages up in prisons, don’t you? What is their crime, precisely? Being born?” said Dorian.

“Basically,” glowered Anders, who was looking akin to a cat with its fur raised.

“Enough, both of you. We are here to retrieve Lady Trevelyan, not abolish the Circles,” snapped Cassandra, for what must have felt like the thousandth time.

Gwendolyn, Hawke, and Cullen chose that moment to make their appearance.

“Oh, my dear, congratulations. The Knight-Enchanter program is a most prestigious honor. I know you’ll make us all proud,” praised First-Enchanter Lydia as she embraced Gwendolyn. The aging mage wore a fond, sad smile as she hugged the younger woman. She pulled away and fixed Gwendolyn with a maternal look. “You were always one of my best students, Gwendolyn. Trust in yourself and your abilities and you will do just fine, I know it.”

“Thank you. I’ll…try my best,” said Gwendolyn, with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. First-Enchanter Lydia had been like a mother to her for the past twenty or so years now, and it was more difficult than expected to say goodbye.

“Good luck, my dear,” said First-Enchanter Lydia.

As they walked by, Gwendolyn and Cador exchanged a glare, but neither said anything.

With that, the party left the Circle tower. As Gwendolyn stepped out onto the street, for the first time not trapped in a carriage on her way to her parents’ house, she felt for the first time what it was perhaps like to be truly free. She was never going back to the Circle. No, now she could go about her day without Cador hovering over her shoulder, without the constant threat of tranquility looming in the background, and without the oppressive rules of the Chantry governing her every action. For the first time in her life, she was _finally _going to get to leave Ostwick, to see the world for all its glory and faults.

Though she’d been apprehensive about this whole mess, now she was finally starting to feel excited.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Gwendolyn was just as thrilled, if not more so, than she’d been the night before. As they set off from Ostwick, Gwendolyn was practically overflowing with excitement to finally see what was beyond the city walls. As they rounded a bend near the coast, she gasped and ran over to one of the short walls bordering the road, bracing her hands on it to get a better look.

“Lady Trevelyan, what are you doing?” asked Cassandra with a frown.

“You can see the ocean from here!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Yep, somewhere _way _beyond that is Ferelden,” said Varric. “You’ve never seen the ocean before?”

She shook her head, still utterly engrossed in the scenery. “It’s so big! It just…goes on forever!”

“Ugh, I feel seasick already,” groaned Dorian.

“Lady Trevelyan, there will be time to admire the view later. We must be going,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn looked suddenly embarrassed and rejoined the rest of the group as they headed on their way, muttering her apologies as she did.

They traveled quietly for some time, with only the sound of horse hooves to fill the silence, before Dorian decided the quiet wasn’t suiting him.

“Dearest Gwendolyn, are you aware that we are related?” asked Dorian.

“We are?” she asked in surprise.

“Indeed! I attribute your magical prowess to your relation to House Pavus. Certainly, had nothing to do with _your_ wretched family,” said Dorian.

“I confess to knowing very little of my family, beyond that we have distant relatives in Nevarra and Tevinter, but now that I say that, I suppose you’re the distant relative in Tevinter,” said Gwendolyn.

“And now you have Venatori assassins coming after you. I’m none too keen on them myself, however often they’ve tried to recruit me,” said Dorian.

“I don’t understand why they’re coming after me, short of this whole Inquisition business,” said Gwendolyn.

“The Venatori obviously are the ones who sent Serah Hawke into this alternate timeline. If they had any inkling, much as your seer friend did, that you might be involved as you apparently are, they would obviously seek to kill you,” said Dorian.

“Then why is this happening now?” asked Gwendolyn.

“I would expect it’s happening for the same reason that I’m here,” said Hawke.

“Which is?” asked Dorian.

“_I _am here to establish your Inquisition for you, and _they _undoubtedly wish to do the opposite of that,” said Hawke. “I can’t speak to the exact timing of it. Perhaps Corypheus is amassing his power now or something.”

“Wonderful. And here I was hoping I might see the sights a bit. Take a walk by the ocean. See snow. Maybe take a nap first,” said Gwendolyn.

“What is the saying? ‘No rest for the wicked’?” said Cullen.

Gwendolyn made a face at him.

“Are you _sassing _her, Commander? I didn’t think you had it in you,” said Dorian in amusement. “Well played.”

Cullen cleared his throat and immediately went back to stoically pretending not to pay attention to them.

\---

Most of the journey across the Free Marches was fairly uneventful. By some miracle no bandits, marauders, raiders, the Carta, or Venatori attacked them. This was rather new for Hawke and her friends, considering that time spent around Hawke almost always involved something exploding, getting attacked, or brawling in the streets. It was suspiciously calm, actually, which worried Hawke, Anders, and Varric to no end. The others didn’t seem particularly perturbed by this, not knowing any better. That, and Cassandra and Cullen had their hands full with four powerful, opinionated mages under their charge, at least two of whom were outspoken revolutionaries.

They were about two days away from Kirkwall when trouble finally found them in the form of Gwendolyn collecting firewood. She had been very enthusiastic about firewood collecting, and the others were more than happy to let her do the grunt work. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

Cassandra was in the process of making stew when everyone except Varric suddenly looked over into the woods. There was a faint yelp of surprise that accompanied the distinct sense of magic, and Cullen was the first to jump to his feet and run into the trees. He expected an assassin, maybe a group of bandits. Instead, he got…a possum. Despite there being a short wall of ice in between the possum and Gwendolyn, the mage was absolutely terrified.

“What happened?” asked Cullen urgently.

“Look at it! It’s a giant rat!” she exclaimed in terror, surreptitiously positioning Cullen in between her and the possum.

Cullen looked from the possum to Gwendolyn. “It’s a possum.”

“I don’t care what it is, it’s horrifying!” exclaimed Gwendolyn.

“Have you truly never seen a possum before?” he asked in disbelief.

“We do not have whatever these are in the Circle!” said Gwendolyn in a panic. “Do they bite? Are they poisonous?”

“What? No, of course not,” said Cullen, sheathing his sword. Clearly, there had not been anything even resembling an emergency. “It is far more afraid of you than you are of it.”

“Well, then that’s quite familiar then,” allowed Gwendolyn, still quite shaken.

“It’s all right,” said Cullen gently. “The wildlife will not harm you.”

This was, of course, very much a lie, but Gwendolyn did not need to know that at the moment.

After recollecting Gwendolyn’s firewood, the two of them returned to camp.

“What happened?” asked Hawke, unable to contain her curiosity.

“There was a—” Gwendolyn glanced at Cullen. “What did you call it?”

“A possum,” said Cullen in resignation as he sat down once more.

“Right. Yes, there was a possum!” declared Gwendolyn.

“A…_possum_,” said Hawke.

“You should have seen it! It was this big and it looked like a giant rat with scraggly teeth!” exclaimed Gwendolyn animatedly.

Hawke looked at her. “A possum. You panicked because of a possum.”

“No, no, that’s fair. I remember seeing a bear for the first time after I left the Circle for the first time. Wildlife is perfectly horrid,” said Anders.

Gwendolyn looked horrified. “_Bears_?”

“Ferelden’s full of them, especially in the south. And wolves, among other things. Wild mabari, that’s a good one too,” listed off Hawke.

Gwendolyn looked mortified.

“Hmm, how charming,” said Dorian distastefully. 

“Being in the Circle doesn’t expose you to the mundane horrors of everyday life, just the templar-kind,” said Anders as he shot Cullen a look.

“I mean, I’ve read about bears and the like, but they always looked so fluffy and friendly in books,” said Gwendolyn.

“They are not,” said Hawke.

“Bears are nothing special,” frowned Cassandra.

“Easy for you to say, Seeker; you probably punch bears in the nose for fun,” said Varric.

“Nobody asked you, dwarf,” huffed Cassandra.

“You were in the Circle?” Gwendolyn asked, looking at Anders.

Cullen looked tired.

“In Ferelden, on and off,” confirmed Anders.

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“I escaped seven times. On the eighth attempt, I found myself in Amaranthine and got recruited into the Grey Wardens,” said Anders.

“_Eight _times?” gaped Gwendolyn.

“Eight,” said Cullen dully.

“I thought you were a templar in Kirkwall?” she asked Cullen.

“I was in Ferelden for a time beforehand,” said Cullen, clearly unwilling to say more on the subject.

“You’d think at some point they’d just decide that you were too much trouble and let you go,” said Gwendolyn.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? You should have seen the mage hunter’s face when the Warden-Commander put her foot down and recruited me. I thought she was going to explode, not that it wouldn’t have been for the better if she had,” said Anders.

“If you’re a Grey Warden, then why aren’t you off fighting darkspawn? Or is that where this magister business comes into play?” wondered Gwendolyn.

“He quit because they took his cat,” said Hawke.

“You can quit the Grey Wardens? What am I saying, of course you can, otherwise Ferelden’s monarchy wouldn’t exist,” said Gwendolyn, mostly to herself.

“Not really. Anders faked his death to do it. It was all very elaborate, I understand. His Warden-Commander was furious, as was the Warden-Constable, if memory serves,” said Hawke.

“Good to know that some things remain consistent across timelines,” said Anders blandly.

“Speaking of which, Seeker, did you happen to inform Sister Nightingale of everything I told you?” asked Hawke.

“I did. She is informing the relevant parties now,” said Cassandra.

Hawke nodded. “Good. If the Inquisitor is afraid of something as mundane as possums and bears, we need all the help we can get.”

\---

Seneschal Brann did not want to be the Interim Viscount of Kirkwall, nor was he enjoying his tenure as such. Kirkwall was a disaster and he was in no way the man for the job. The parts of the city that weren’t still recovering from the Qunari were recovering from the mages and templars, and the parts that weren’t recovering from _that _had been bad to begin with. For pity’s sake, Meredith’s red lyrium form was still glued to the ground in the Gallows. In no way was the city prepared to host anyone of import, let alone more _excitement_.

When Serah Hawke shoved open the door to his office and strode in with a strange collection of people, he immediately knew that this was not going to end well for either him or Kirkwall.

“Champion,” he acknowledged tiredly.

“We’re establishing an Inquisition and will be basing ourselves here in Kirkwall for the time being. I don’t suppose you would be willing to accommodate that?” said Hawke, laying on the charm nice and thick.

Seneschal Brann stared at her. “What?”

“Hawke!” roared someone from down the hall.

Hawke winced and turned around to fix Aveline with a smile. “Aveline, dear friend, how have you been?”

“Cut the shit, Hawke. What are you doing?” demanded Aveline. She glanced at the group assembled. “And where did you find _more _mages? You and Anders aren’t doing anything _illegal_, are you? That isn’t why the Knight-Commander is here, right? Hawke, _tell me_ you’re not getting put in a Circle,” said Aveline.

“It’s all perfectly semi-legal, Aveline, I _assure_ you. Lady Trevelyan only attacked an assassin, her horrible father and brother, and a possum on our way here really, so I’d say we’re doing all right so far,” said Hawke.

“_What_?” asked Aveline in horror.

“Everything is under control,” said Hawke in a reassuring tone.

Aveline was, in a word, skeptical.

“Don’t _worry_, Aveline. We’re only founding an Inquisition and playing host to the son of a Tevinter magister and a former Circle mage from Ostwick destined to save us all from an original darkspawn magister,” said Hawke.

“As long as nothing gets blown up,” sighed Aveline in resignation. She had enough problems without adding Hawke’s antics to the mix.

“You worry too much, Aveline. Anders only did that in the _other_ timeline,” said Hawke.

“Hawke,” growled Aveline.

“Everything will be fine. I promise,” said Hawke.

Aveline shook her head and wandered away. She had no desire to involve herself further in whatever shenanigans Hawke was up to.

Hawke turned to address her motley crew of misfits. “Come along, Inquisition! To the Gallows!”

Gwendolyn looked at her. “The _what_?”

\---

Gwendolyn stared at the building in front of her, the frozen red lyrium form of Knight-Commander Meredith and the broken slave statues of the Gallows, and suddenly everything she had heard about the Kirkwall Circle made sense. She turned on her heels and headed back for the boat.

“Nope. Can’t do it. Find another Inquisitor,” said Gwendolyn.

“Oh, come now, Princess. It looks bad, certainly, but it’s not nearly as terrible as it seems. Look, the Knight-Commander is even a statue now and the slavery relics are destroyed,” said Varric brightly.

“You can always stay in one of my guest rooms, Lady Trevelyan,” offered Hawke.

“She has been released from the Ostwick Circle into our protection. If these Tevinter assassins are targeting her, then she must remain in the safety of the Circle,” said Cassandra firmly.

“I am not living somewhere called _the_ _Gallows_!” exclaimed Gwendolyn.

“If you are meant to lead this Inquisition, Lady Trevelyan, then you must be protected, and you will remain here where it is safe from the assassins. This is non-negotiable. Should for whatever reason you need to leave, you will be escorted,” said Cassandra.

“So, I’m a prisoner here too?” said Gwendolyn.

“Mages are not the Chantry’s prisoners. You have no right to detain her,” argued Anders.

“This is not a matter for debate!” fumed Cassandra.

“The Circle here fell when the Knight-Commander attempted the rite of annulment. You are in no danger here,” explained Cullen in an attempt to ease tensions.

“How does that make this better? The old Knight-Commander is a statue glued to the courtyard!” said Gwendolyn.

“That _thing _is also giving me a headache,” said Dorian.

“Oh, so that’s not just me?” said Gwendolyn in surprise.

“It’s all mages, best we can tell,” said Hawke.

“All the more reason for us _not _to be here!” said Anders.

“As the Circle has largely been dismantled, the present infrastructure is highly defendable and will make for a convenient headquarters for this new Inquisition,” insisted Cassandra. “As Inquisitor, you must also be headquartered where your organization is.”

“If I’m Inquisitor and I’m supposed to be the most powerful woman in Thedas, then let me assert my authority by saying that I will _not _be headquartered anywhere called _the Gallows_ where a red lyrium statue of a Knight-Commander who ordered a rite of annulment is glued to the courtyard!” exclaimed Gwendolyn.

“You are not yet Inquisitor, nor are you the most powerful woman in Thedas. At present, you are little more than a Circle mage who is _destined _to be something more, Maker willing. Until the Divine decrees otherwise, you are our responsibility and under our authority. The Gallows is safe and is sufficiently isolated from the main city to the perfect headquarters for a fledgling organization. Ignore the name and focus on the strategic locale,” said Cassandra.

“And if we elect not to go along with this farce?” said Anders.

“I suspect they will be rather opposed to that,” said Dorian. “Though I doubt tranquility is presently on the table, yes?”

“Honestly, this entire argument is a bit of a waste of time. I’ve spent my entire life avoiding the Circle, but we do not have time for this. The Circle is gone, Meredith’s a statue, and the Inquisition needs a headquarters. If it’s the name that bothers all of you, we can just rename it Inquisition Point or something. It might catch on eventually,” said Hawke.

“Dead Templar Redoubt,” said Anders.

“Meredith’s Folly,” said Varric.

“Red Lyrium Island,” said Anders.

“Ice Princess’s Castle,” said Varric.

“Mages’ Refuge,” said Anders.

“Hawke’s Nest,” said Varric.

“You all made fun of me when I suggested new names for the Wounded Coast, and _now_ you’re all comedians? I mean, _really_,” huffed Hawke.

“Renaming the Gallows is a fool’s errand,” said Cullen.

“Killjoy Castle,” said Anders.

“He’s Fereldan, so more like Caer Killjoy,” said Varric.

“Good point, good point,” agreed Anders.

Cullen’s frown deepened.

“If the place is run by a mage, would then the name take on a very different connotation?” said Dorian.

“Oh, you mean like the original connotation of this being where the Imperium kept their slaves and killed them?” said Hawke.

“_That’s _where the name comes from?” gaped Gwendolyn.

“Hmm, well, the Imperium does have its flaws,” said Dorian.

“It is a _really _good thing that Fenris isn’t here to meet you,” said Hawke.

“Might make Broody’s day, what are you talking about? His favorite hobby is ripping out the hearts of Tevinter magisters,” said Varric.

“_I _am not a magister; _I _am an altus, which means that my father is a magister. I am no stranger to the Imperium’s flaws. What makes my homeland great is not the blood magic and corruption. If what Serah Hawke has said of Corypheus is even half true, then he represents everything wrong with the Imperium, just like these Venatori and I will do everything in my power to stop them from further ruining my homeland and making that the world,” explained Dorian.

“If we are quite finished belaboring this point, there is a great deal of work to be done,” said Cassandra.

Gwendolyn looked at Hawke expectantly.

“It’s only temporary and eventually your headquartered in a lavish castle in the Frostbacks,” said Hawke.

“If this is somehow worse than Ostwick, I will never forgive you,” said Gwendolyn bluntly.

“Noted. And just remember that when you’re in charge, you can order around all the templars serving the Inquisition,” said Hawke.

Gwendolyn considered this for a moment before heading inside. “Good enough for me.”

“Everyone inside Caer Killyjoy,” said Anders.

Cassandra made a disgusted sound.

“It will not be called that,” said Cullen.

“I liked Meredith’s Folly,” said Hawke. “Her petrified corpse adds to the ambiance.”

“Isle of the Inquisition?” suggested Gwendolyn.

“Possum Point,” said Varric.

Gwendolyn made a face at him.


End file.
